


A Confluence of Circumstances

by debvors



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, M/M, an attempt at pirates' slang, eve is in her mid-thirties & villanelle mid-twenties, irregular updates, not historically accurate but based on some historical events, set in alternative 17th and 18th century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debvors/pseuds/debvors
Summary: Eve has been sailing the Atlantic Ocean for years, making a name for herself and her out of the ordinary crew until one fateful turn of events compels her to form an alliance with an infamous enemy. His request, which lays behind the shores of Russia, threatens a legacy involving a woman with golden hair and impish eyes. Forced into a game she never meant to play, Eve and her newly recruited crew will have to sail waters filled with legends and creatures willingly forgotten.ORthe PIRATES AU
Relationships: Carolyn Martens/Konstantin Vasiliev, Elena Felton/Kenny Stowton, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Kudos: 4





	A Confluence of Circumstances

**_“The ocean is a mighty harmonist.”_ **

_William Wordsworth_

-

It’s raining in Marseille for the first time in weeks. The masts of the ships clash against each other as sailors try to tighten the ropes around the bollards. The storm is approaching faster than her father had expected, bringing with itself dark clouds and rainy days. He’s surveys the horizon through the high windows of the front room, waiting for the same thing every day. 

He had said they were here on a vacation. He wants to help her clear her mind from the grayness of Paris and the recurrent protests. Supposedly. But she knows he’s there for business, very important business. Because he didn’t send one of his lieutenant do the job, he actually bothered leaving the palace. He also had to bring her with him, which he never did, as it was no business for a lady, but his hold on the capital was weakening and the guillotine working a little too much.

She doesn’t know the nature of the problems piling themselves up in her father’s mind, but she knows he is waiting for answers from the sea. 

Now, as he faces his own fortune teller, she can’t help but feel like the storm is a bird of ill omen. She wishes she could understand the whispers of the wind, understand the language of the sea, but she doesn’t and so her father remains alone. He looks powerless, as if there is such a thing for a King. She had seen him wander in the residence, seen the absence of his footprints on the sand of the naked beach, and she fears his crown has already fallen. 

She had tried to enliven him, to anger him, mostly by telling him she had rejected all of her potential suitors, but he hadn’t reacted. He had motioned for her to leave his office, one of his lieutenant escorting her out steadfastly. In other circumstances she would have cursed the man, maybe bitten him, but there was nobody to anger anymore. She has never seen her father this distraught in her life. Not even when her mother died. The King doesn’t care about anything anymore except for the sea and she doesn’t understand why. She’s the golden child, his only legacy, and it used to be enough to fulfill him, to keep the walls of their home busy with noises. But in this residence she has never known more quiet days. And she hates the silence; they have lived with enough of it after her mother’s passing. They need to shine again. She needs to breathe again. 

☠︎

The ocean is merciless this morning as the sails struggles against the wind. Eve hasn’t left the rudder since they left the land three days ago. Renovating the ship had taken more time than they had expected and they were running late. Especially as Bill was in no shape to help her. Their last piracy didn’t end well, mostly because not one, but five ships were waiting for them. They survived at the price of too many lives and lost cannonballs. The spirits of their belated crew member can still be heard crying into the angry wind. Eve hates it. She wishes she could have done things differently, but it was inevitable when you sailed with red sails. Now, the deck is devoid of any soul except hers, but she knows the wood of her most precious possession will forever hold the blood of her old family and perhaps it is enough company. 

“Argh! The wind is going to throw me poor body overboard if it doesn’t ease.”

Bill is coming up the wardroom on wobbly legs, a bottle of rum in his right hand while he’s trying to scrub away a nasty stain on his white shirt. It’s the same he was wearing when they left the land, and Eve is sure he didn’t wash it once. He shouldn’t be drinking, even more now that they are the only ones on the ship, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell him off. If it can ease his sorrows, she’s nobody to judge. 

“Have ye lost yer sea legs, matey?” teases Eve, holding her tricorn at the top of her head. 

“Never! But I might be three sheets to the wind.” 

“That ye are.”

She’s smiling against the wind when he finally set a foot on the quarterdeck. He looks so much worst up close and reek of vomit and alcohol. She can see the barely closed wound near his right collarbone, Eve really thought she was going to lose him. 

“Do ye think we’ll be there on time?”

“We’re already late Bill, but we’ve more than enough to please him.” 

The only thing they could congratulate themselves for. These ships were full of luxurious fabric, jewelry and gold. They had robbed the items on the land and were going toward the Britannic Empire. The men they killed claimed to be privateers, but their letter of marque was as fake as it could be. When the shots started and Eve screamed “give no quarter” into the ocean, she knew they would be no survivors on one end or another. Even the enormous booty they got out of it couldn’t make up for the blood spilled. 

“Do ye think they are treated well at Davy Jones’ Locker?”

It’s a stupid question to ask, there is nothing but hell waiting there. Probably a spot for her poor soul, too. She hopes it’s not next to One Eye Joe. His breath stinks like nobody’s business. 

“I think they are treated like the little shit they were,” declares Bill, a bottle of rum held up in the air.

Eve allows herself a laugh before taking a swing off Bill’s bottle. It burns her throat a second too long. She really loved these little shits. 

☠︎

“Mademoiselle Villanelle, the King demand to see you.” 

Christine is one of the oldest domestic of the kingdom. Villanelle has known her her entire life. She gave her a hard time more than anyone else, probably made her write a resignation letter more than a thousand times, but she stayed. Christine is a constant in her life, someone she might even like, and so she pretends she doesn’t hear her. 

Villanelle stands up, because she likes to make people think she listened for once before going to her balcony. She’s only wearing her corset and a light robe, it’s digging into her skin, compressing her ribs and waist. She’s barely able to breathe, but the storm does it for her. Villanelle bends over the stone balcony, arms stretched on both sides, holding the cold material, eyes closed. It’s inappropriate.If her father could see her she would be punished, but not these days. Her father doesn’t care. And so she lets her hair get into the wind, let them tangle as they please. She likes to think she’s giving them freedom. 

“Villanelle.”

It’s the voice of her father, deadened by the wooden door of her bedroom. Maybe she’ll get in trouble today, after all. 

“I’m not dressed, father!” 

“Are you outside?!” 

She slightly turns her upper body toward Christine, hands still on the handrail. The poor woman looks scared, it’s hard to keep a job these days even if you’ve been around forever. 

“I just opened the window, I was feeling unwell.” Christine lets a breath escape her and Villanelle regrets the rapidity of her answer. “I’ll be downstair in a moment.” 

She ultimately goes back inside, lets her robe drop on the ground before getting behind the screen to get changed. A pale pink dress is waiting for her. It probably came straight from Paris, as it should, and she doesn’t have to ask for Christine to lean over and help her put her feet in it. The fabric is rough against her legs for a second before it settles itself around her torso, half of her arms are showing as the sleeves end puffed-out. It’s such an innocent look for such a perverse soul. 

Christine guides her toward the dressing table. Her hair looks like a mess, her skin is paler than what she’s used to without the overbearing amount of blush. She looks soft, catlike, naïve, but her eyes are telling sins that have yet to be forgiven. Christine styles her hair up, naturally, a lady’s neck needs to be shown wearing an expensive piece of jewelry. Villanelle has dozens of necklaces to choose from, but today she wears the diamond decorated cross. It falls nicely just under her collarbones, and Christine puts on her golden earring while giving her a look. Villanelle stares until she looks away. 

Everybody does. 

☠︎

Marseille’s port is one of the best of the whole Mediterranean. Eve had spent pleasant days in the city when she had been a member of an inexperienced crew. The laws concerning acts of piracy had been less severe, and she had made a few friends, drank a little too much and taken the sea to never return. Until today. 

The wind is still strong when they arrive, but the ship remains easy to maneuver. Bill is going up and down the mast, adjusting the sails and surveying the coast. They are expected, but they remain pirates who didn’t miss their hanged partners near the boulders. They pass between two citadels guarded by four navy officers. Eve gently taps the tip of her tricorne in the way of greeting but gets nothing in return. They are staring weirdly at her, observing the way the ship gets into the port without struggle. She’s used to it, she’s a female captain and definitely not the European type. Bill drops the anchor and quickly hops off the ship onto the dock. Eve has a few seconds to position the ship rights before throwing the lines at Bill. 

The port has grown silent, if such a thing is possible. A pirate ship has stopped at Marseille and nobody is stopping them. It can be startling. Eve spots the royal officers coming from the cobblestones streets, holding bayonets close to their chests. She looks over at Bill, who lightly taps his left boot; he has his gun. They are here for business, but as much as pirates are bad with rules, their enemies often forget to honor them. Eve gently repositions her belt, her cutlass lightly taping her thigh before meeting their hosts. 

They don’t exchange any words; the officers motioning for the pirates to follow as two officers position themselves behind them. As if they were stupid enough to attempt anything there, in plain sight. It wouldn’t be that bad to die in this place, though. It’s a pleasant city with a cute market and beautiful architecture, it’s something France could never shy away from. But Eve promised her body to the ocean, and she knows better than to anger him. 

They are led to a vast property surrounded by a large garden where a multitude of statues seem to look out for its inhabitant. It’s as show-off as it can be, but awaited coming from a king. They go through a very meticulous body search during which Bill’s gun is found in a minute and their cutlasses put aside. They aren’t at their advantage and the officers are treating them like so; it seems like even the housekeepers know they could have the upper hand if they wanted to. They tower over them from marble stairs, hands filled with dirty laundry. People really search for proof of their power in every little thing. They get drunk from it. 

The officers show them to a living room of the residence splendidly decorated with floor to ceiling windows blessing the room with the outside light. The view of the sea is breathtaking from there, and Eve envisions herself spending hours watching the water during stormy days. It’s a sight for the soul. 

In the middle of the room are two large white couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. A steaming teapot is already on it, two tea cups waiting for them. It might be seen as a kind attention, something to ease the guests' patience, but it's nothing else but the expression of the King's disinterest. He has not bothered to greet them himself. A teapot does it for him. 

Bill and Eve sit in silence, both staring out the window, searching for a grounding image. They are not from this world, never were. If you are not from royal blood or from the bourgeoisie, you grow up despising these very people. Being a pirate didn't help. Eve thinks living with so much money, so much power from the beginning makes your life dull, erase the tough lessons you need to learn to become a part of humanity. Strangely enough, Eve considers them to be even more of an outcast than her. 

The noise of the two heavy doors of the living room being pushed informs them of the King's appearance. He is wearing a grey wig and smells strongly of perfume, making Eve dizzy. He’s followed by a woman Eve hadn’t seen when she was in Paris. She’s wearing a pink fluffy dress and an obnoxious cross around her neck. They make eye-contact; she’s smiling. The woman looks expensive, sophisticated, and by the worried looks the King keeps throwing at her, unpredictable. Eve doesn’t smile back. Instead, she watches as the King settles lightly to the side, leaving room for the woman accompanying him, and takes a stack of paper given by one of his officer. 

It looks like a contract, a handwritten contract. Eve, nor Bill, had signed any contract with the King beforehand. Their job was unofficial, taboo almost. There had to be no proofs, and it deeply troubles Eve to see a potential physical evidence of their union and piracy.

“Did you accomplish the mission?” 

“We did. Everything has been taking cared off,” Eve answers in a flawless French. 

Eve sees the woman with blonde hair raise one bold eyebrow at her. She’s not surprised, being underestimated should be her middle name. She speaks five languages fluently, French, English, Korean, Spanish and Portuguese. It has helped her to get off many dangerous situations as people treat you differently when you actually bother learning their cultures and their language. She’s proud of this ability. 

“Do you have proof?” 

“All the proofs you need are in the hold of my ship,” states Eve. “Do you have what we asked for?” 

The woman looks weirdly over at the King; it seems like she’s not aware of their arrangement. Eve wonders why he bothered bringing one of his mistress here, what is being talked about could be held against him. 

“I have the maps, but I’ll give them to you after you do another job for me.”

“That’s not what we agreed to,” interferes Bill in English. 

“But it’s my condition.”

Eve is thankful that Bill has as much self-control as her. If it had been any other pirate, the poor King would probably already be on the ground. Sure, the pirate would have been dead seconds later, but he would’ve saved his pride. Bill and Eve, after years of roaming the seas and the oceans, know pride is a cheap price to pay to live. The King wanted to behave like one, prove that he was better than them, that he owned them. Eve understands he’s in front of his soldiers, his apparently new important mistress. He’s saving his face. 

“We are listening.” 

Bill looks back at her alarmed, she simply shrugs and sits more comfortably on the couch. She lets her back sink into the soft material, let her legs take all the place they want. She’s civilized but not intimidated and if he’s not showing them respect she’ll not bother with good manners. The woman next to the King looks upon her disapprovingly, eyeing the way she’s sprawled onto the couch. Eve smiles; she enjoys making privileged people uncomfortable. 

“I want you to go to Russia.”

Eve has never been there, mostly because it’s not her “hunting area” but also because it’s dangerous. She lost count of her peers who had done business in the Black Sea and lost their lives and their ships. Wars were inevitable and constantly thriving in these waters. Eve had been glad to cater her business to the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea. Apparently, it ends today. 

“And what do you need from a land that is not yours or even your partner?” asks defiantly Eve, elbow coming to rest on her knees. 

“A job has been left unfinished, and it needs to be done quickly.”

“Send your tropes,” scoffs Bill in broken French. 

“I would,” starts the King, eyebrows raised at Bill, “but it’s an odd job.”

A job that requires to sin on foreign land. A sin leading to a potential war. Eve is not familiar with whom is at war with whom, but she’s pretty sure Russia isn’t the priority of France. Great Britain on the other hand probably needed to be checked on. Sinking ships briefly flashes in her mind, fire floating on water, dead bodies slowly joining the abysses. 

“You are probably aware of the difficulty of getting to Russia. The Black Sea is known for its headwinds and its foggy atmosphere,” recalls Eve. “Navigating the Black Sea is the equivalent of playing a game of heads or tails where your life is the price and I already lost an entire crew to your initial request. We are in no shape or capacity to start the mission, even if we wanted to.” 

Bill lays a comforting hand on her knee. They are pirates, not suicidal, if the King wants them he’ll have to fund them. 

“I have men ready to take the sea and my domestics will take care of you until you can take the sea again.”

“Yer men?” hysterically laughs Bill. “No men affiliated with ye will set a foot on Eve’s ship. We are pirates trusting pirates.” 

“My partner is right. I only sail with pirates, if we accept your offer we need to have carte blanche on the choice of the crew.” 

It’s not negotiable, becoming a privateer is enough of a downgrade on its own. Even if it’s behind closed door, she won’t allow this man to hold power over her crew. Also, it’s hard to see what’s in it for Bill and her except leaving the place alive, but she doesn’t think the King wants to bother himself with two pirates’ corpses. Plus, they’ve proved to be competent, it’s not every day that a pirate respects their engagement. Even less with a booty that big. 

“I understand. If you accept the offer, you’ll be allowed to do that and I’ll give you more details about this quest. For now, you may rest in my residence. My servants will set up two bedrooms for you. I’ll give you a week to give your answer.”

They leave then, all at once. And they are left alone in this vast living room, trying to process what has just happened. A new adventure, a new sea to discover, and even more dangers to brave. It’s what made Eve take the sea in the first place. That, and the will to live. 

“Are we really going to do this?” asks Bill, resignation in his voice. 

“I’m afraid we don’t really have a choice, matey…” 

☠︎

Living with pirates in the residence is weird. Well, truth be told, it’s not really that different as they barely show themselves, but it’s knowing that they are here that makes it… strange. Villanelle wasn’t able to get any more information as to why these pirates needed to go to Russia, and even less able to understand why her father was commissioning them. 

He hates pirates; he has since the very beginning and made sure her many nannies told her scary bedtime stories every night involving a man with a wooden leg and a missing eye. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the effect he was looking for. She rapidly became obsessed with them, asking for more stories, more blood, more screams, more deaths, and suddenly the stories stopped. One of the nanny probably told a word to the King and Villanelle forgot all about them or rather ignored them. But now, they were next to her room, living their pirates’ lives and speaking their atrocious language in her country, under their supervision. 

Little Villanelle probably would’ve been thrilled, but little Villanelle hadn’t been aware of female pirates and the one she had just met didn’t look fun. What she looked like was impolite, untamed, foreign. And that’s what caught her attention, this pirate. Eve, her father had called her during supper, wasn’t from the lands surrounding France. She looked like these people who came from the East. The one's people from foreign lands talk about with fear and apprehension while looking over their shoulders, scared they’ll get caught. 

Villanelle never asked about them, never cared because they aren’t like them, they are savages. She had learned enough about the East to know it was best to never mingle with the people of its kind. But there she was, this Eve, trading with a King. Her father. And Villanelle doesn't know what to think about it. 

She had tried to get a glimpse of her, lingering for an unnecessary amount of time in the hallways. Looking at paintings she had passed a hundred times before without caring, but Eve had never showed up. Villanelle caught sight of the other pirate, the male one. He was always limping and muttering non-sense, and he kept on scratching his right shoulder. He looked filthy in clean clothes. It disgusts Villanelle to an unbelievable extent. 

It shouldn’t surprise her though. He’s a man under the command of a woman, and it was clear during her father’s meeting that Eve could have the upper hand over him. He looked unthreatening, as built as a jellyfish and owner of an empty mind. She wonders what Eve had seen in him. Surely she had handpicked him to be by her side, but it doesn't seem like a fit match for the astute pirate. Because Villanelle, as much as she despises it, knows Eve is talented at her job, she has to be. Her father wouldn’t have traded with them otherwise; the act of appointing them was dangerous enough on its own. Now he was requesting their help again. 

Requesting, not ordering.

Villanelle supposes the pirates had thought her father authoritative during their meeting, even presumptuous. After all, they would have been killed if they had refused, but her father had been merciful. The sharpened blades of bayonets didn't meet their skin upon entrance they had been escorted, and it only means one thing: her father is desperate. Whatever business he had left unattended in Russia was on the verge of exploding in his face, and the consequences were scheduled to ripple through the Earth and under his throne. 

Villanelle stares in the dark at the closed door of her room and wonders what her father last hope looks like in their slumbers. If their bodies unconsciously rock to the movements of imaginary waves, if their minds are troubled by their made-up ethic honored by a few. Villanelle ponders how these murderers cope on land knowing they’ll never be a part of it. And she could’ve asked. If she had overcome her concealed fear, she would have met her very own bird of ill omen.

☠︎

Eve’s naked feet lightly touch the ground as she quietly leaves her room, an oil lamp in hand. Sleep wasn’t ready to welcome her in her kingdom, so she visits another one. The mansion is quiet and awfully dark without the light of the stars. Marbles statues morph into eerie shadows as Eve passes by them, keeping with them the secrets of a bizarre King. 

She goes along the heavily adorned wall, shying away from the brightness of the moon as if she would denounce her to the land. Eve believes he is short-tempered for the people whose soul doesn’t belong to his grounds. 

The florescent spy shines through the windows, drawing novels chessboards on the tilted floor. It dares her to move her Queen and give her King, but Eve still have a bishop and she hopes to retrieve other pawns. Even if she wishes she could bring back the old ones. 

The King offer, as much as Eve hates to admit it, is what Bill and she had needed. They were two sailors without a crew and a parceled ship, and as talented as they might be, they wouldn’t have lasted long on the sea. Surely the news of their raid on the privateers had already traveled the ocean, and there was only one ship sailing with red sails in the Atlantic Ocean. While they don’t know of Eve's business, they certainly guessed the loss she suffered. Her crew had been highly skilled, renowned even, but not invincible. And Eve’s legacy lived in the hull of her ship, therefore getting a hold of it was assessing power. It was being one step closer to mastering the sea. 

It was stupid and reckless. The sea and the ocean belonged to each other, overlooked by the moon, kept under close surveillance by the sun. Pirates and sailors are and will remain their humble servants, Eve’s ship won’t change any of that. But it’s a waste of time trying to reason clouded minds, and so they desperately needed this new crew. 

Bill disapproves, Eve thinks as she casts one meaningful glance to her friend’s bedroom door, and she feels the tiny claws of guilt scratching her heart. It may have been long ago, but she still remembers the day he told her about his hatred for the royals. At first Eve had to laugh, intoxicated as they were it was impossible to take anything seriously, but as they clumsily made their way back to the ship Bill’s laugh hadn’t harmonized with hers. In fact, he had stopped completely under a rusty streetlamp, his bottle of rum loosely held by his side. Gone was her goofy and energetic friend. In front of her stood a man in his late twenties with a balding head and a tired face. Eve doesn’t know why, but she had felt they were at a crossroad, one that could part their way forever. And so she had held back her stupid joke and joined her friend. 

Under the weak light and the noises of the sea, he had told her about the Duke who had lured his widowed mother with fake promises and a future which would never be bright. She learned Bill had lived in one of this Duke castle, for how long he didn’t tell, but it was enough for his mother and his sister to get used to the lifestyle. And one day, as one may suspect, the Duke had thrown them out, somebody telling a word about the Duke’s affair. Bill’s mother wasn’t aware of her mistress title, at least that’s what he told Eve, and so they found themselves on the streets with no money nor home. 

After two weeks of living on the street and seeing his sister withering, Bill had accepted his first act of piracy along the coasts of France. “A quick robbery” they had told Bill, one involving a pirate ship and tiny fishing boats. Strangely enough, they had failed to mention they were heading toward Le Havre, France’s biggest port, and what was supposed to be quick became a bloodbath. The pirate ship had joined the depth of the Channel and Bill the docks of Le Havre. By chance he had hidden in a cargo ship heading to Dover, but by the time he had gotten back to London his sister had died and his mother had followed two weeks after his arrival. 

At first Bill had felt angry at himself, at these pirates, until he realized he had done what needed to be done and what was happening was nobody’s fault but the Duke’s. Since then he holds a grudge toward anything remotely royal or bourgeois and had avoided it successfully until three months ago. Now, Eve was forcing him to betray himself again. 

She had made no promises to Bill, and he expects nothing from her but the behavior of a captain. Yet, it doesn’t lessen the weight forming in her chest. Pirates show no mercy, even among themselves, although for Bill Eve knows she's bound to make an exception. One day. 

It’s the sound of clad feet in expensive materials and the rustling of a silk robe which grounds Eve back to reality. Under her, and through the bars of her floor, she can guess the figure of the King walking slowly toward large doors leading to one of the many terrasse of the Château. It’s not summer yet, and Eve inquires what the King is meeting outside but the unwelcoming wind of the coast. 

The King’s perruque is crooked, falling miserably to the side, put on in a desperate gesture of faint composure. He doesn’t expect to meet anyone at this hour, probably forgetting about his hosts of fragile sleep. Eve studies him as he takes careful steps toward what she presumes is his comfort place. No guards are in sight, making her conclude that this behavior from the King isn’t unusual. Troubles never sleep, they only grow in size and version, and they already infected the King’s during their first meeting, making Eve doubt it was ever about the British privateers. Maybe their destiny had been sealed the minute they left Paris in a small, smelly car. Maybe the King had had the game laid before him all along while Eve and her crew played blinded. Maybe. But it was also late at night, and the hours spent on the ocean were catching up with her mortal body. So Eve makes her way back to her room and leaves her suspicions at her bedroom door, ready to be picked up again at sunrise. 


End file.
